


Through Playing Games

by fairbreeze



Category: Final Fantasy XII, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-05
Updated: 2012-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-04 21:23:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/398340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbreeze/pseuds/fairbreeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, diplomacy breaks down.  Usually not quite like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Playing Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadcellredux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcellredux/gifts), [flecksofpoppy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/gifts).



> Written for ff_exchange's ff_kiss meme thingy. Prompt was basically "oh god anything with these characters" :D
> 
> deadcellredux's prompt, it's also gifted to notraffic for their general capslock flail about me writing it, without which it might not have gotten written.

After the quick, competitive clash of swords and words and sharp smiles that start off kind and end like sharks circling in the water, this, _this_ is surprisingly _soft_. Both their lives are defined by other people’s hands, knights, rooks, every moment of every day an evocative picture painted with someone else’s fingertips. 

Once you remove your hand from a piece, it stands.

The trick, then, is to not. 

He traces the line of a collarbone with delicate fingers and all the other can think is _oh... different..._ , the way it feels so _strange_ to press against another and not feel _small_. He thinks of towers, of brothers curled in bed, slender arms arrogant enough to attempt to hold back death, but the press of his lips, the heated curl of a tongue, is anything but _brotherly_.

A world defined by kings and queens, black and white, lies broken and silent in the corner where this began, tiny marble pieces strewn carelessly across the floor, royalty and pawns alike tipped and fallen, ignored, swept aside for something equally undeniable. Forgotten.

Curled in silken sheets and feather pillows, the world is painted in shades of grey.


End file.
